No seed is lost that drops in earth's brown bosom,
But gently rising seeks the sun's warm ray;
Growing, it bursts the old, dried shell that holds it,
And rising upward, strives to loose the clay;
Till through the mold we see each green tip peep
And know once more our hearts with joy will sing;
For as we watch the buds awake from sleep,
We see God's lesson, in His gift, the spring.
No thought is lost in all God's holy kingdom,
But gently rising seeks the perfect day,
Breaks ev'ry mortal chain that fain would hold it,
Illumed by Life and Truth, unfolds its way.
Swiftly it rises at the Saviour's bidding
Reflecting clearer beams, Light from above, Till in the radiance of a great awakening,
We see the Principle and know that God is Love.
